


A Strange Doctor

by EvaBelmort



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character death-ish?, Oh look I wrote something morbid again, Probably counts as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvaBelmort/pseuds/EvaBelmort
Summary: A conversation in a library, after the fall.In which Will Graham comes to Kamar-Taj looking for someone. Stephen Strange is not best pleased.





	

It had been months since Stephen was last in Kamar-Taj, caught up rebuilding the Sanctums with Wong, but it was a relief to step back into the familiar quiet of the library. He breathed in the scent of paper and leather and tea, and- froze, staring. 

He didn’t recognize the man sitting at the table, but he certainly recognized the book he was reading; he had personally helped Wong reattach the pages Kaecilius had stolen, had agreed reluctantly to leave it in the library rather than burning it, at least until they understood it better. 

"What are you doing?!" he demanded, striding forward and snapping the book closed, pulling it away from the intruder. 

"Strange," the man rasped, not raising his head.

"Obviously. And you are?" Stephen snapped.

"Oh. I meant that you noticed me, but I suppose that explains who you are." His voice was faint, tone eerily detached, and he still hadn't looked up. What Stephen could see of his face under the tangle of dark hair was dead-white skin, thick-framed glasses, and some kind of red mark, perhaps a scar or tattoo, on his right cheek. 

He couldn't see the ashy discoloration that had marked Kaecilius's eyes and those of his followers, but that didn't make him harmless. Stephen flexed his unsteady fingers, readying a spell if he needed it. "You didn't answer my question. Who are you, how did you get in here, and what were you doing with that book."

"That's three questions," the man corrected, but then went on, "I’m Will, I walked in through the door, and I'm trying to figure out how to get to the Dark Dimension."

A cold shudder ran down Stephen's spine, a sense-memory of being impaled on spikes blindsiding him. "Why?"

"Because I need to go there," Will said. His fingers shifted on the desk, twitching a little in the direction of the book.

Stephen had thought all Kaecilius's deluded minions were gone, either dead or pulled through the portal with the man himself, but this one had clearly missed the memo. Perhaps he had been incapacitated due to injury or illness? He certainly looked unwell. 

Stephen straightened up, lifting the book with one hand, though he kept the other free, fingers shaped to call a weapon. He softened his tone carefully. "Listen, Will, I’m not sure what Kaecilius told you about the Dark Dimension, but he was wrong. It's a realm of endless suffering ruled over by a monster, and I can't let you drag the world into it for some pipe dream of immortality."

Will tilted his head to one side slowly. "I wasn’t planning to take everybody else with me. I told you, _I_ need to go there. If Hannibal is in Hell, then I mean to join him.” His fingers jerked restlessly again, and this time his shoulders shifted as well. “We were supposed to go together, but he survived and I..."

Stephen tossed the book at its shelf and the chain caught it, wrapping it securely into place. With his other hand he beckoned sharply at a little souvenir he'd taken away from London, the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak that had been so effective against Kaecilius. The metal device flicked across the room and crashed into Will, knocking him off his chair as it clicked into place around his body, twisting his limbs up and back until he was securely immobilized. 

He stepped forward to remove the mouthpiece so that Will could talk, but before he could touch him the man said, “I think I prefer straightjackets," clearly audible despite the metal locked over his face.

Stephen froze. "How did you do that?" he demanded.

The man twitched, a whole-body spasm that made the restraints rattle but didn't loosen them in the slightest. "The same way I've been doing it this entire conversation. The real question is: how can you hear me speak when I'm not using my mouth?"

Stephen tugged off the mouthpiece and then just stared. The restraints had tilted Will's face up enough for it to be clearly visible. He had a pale scar on his temple, but the mark on his cheek was not a scar at all: it was an open wound, bloodless and gaping. His skin really was dead-white, to match the cloudy film over his irises. His blue lips didn't move at all as the disembodied voice emanated from the direction of his face, "See?"

Stephen shuddered and backed away, fast. "What are you? And whose corpse are you wearing?" he demanded, leaning against the wall and then stepping out of his body, leaving it slowly sliding to the floor.

Will said, "Huh," and did the same. Stephen found himself meeting the translucent but clear eyes of an astral body identical to the corpse still trapped on the floor, right down to the injuries, though on the astral plane they were still raw and glistening.

"I suppose that explains why you can hear me," Will said, voice clearer now that they were on the same plane.

"Are you actually possessing your own corpse?" Stephen asked incredulously.

"Taking somebody else's would’ve been weird," Will said wryly. "I can't stay out of it long, though, or decomposition will set in."

"Weird." Stephen agreed blankly. "Sure. I'm still not letting you open a portal to the Dark Dimension."

Will frowned. "Would it make a difference if I left the meat suit behind? I'm not especially attached to it, but it's surprisingly difficult travelling around as a ghost, so I kept it. Even thought it meant I had to cross the Atlantic on foot."

"...Because you were chasing this 'Hannibal'?” Stephen asked cautiously. “Was he one of Kaecilius's followers? Because only two of them got dragged in with him and those were women. I think the rest are dead, sorry."

Will snorted. "Hannibal's not really the following type. And he's not dead, believe me, I would know. I can also tell that he's been here, in this place, in this room. He touched that book.” His eyes flickered up to Stephen’s cheek but didn’t quite meet his gaze. “If he’s got any sense, he wasn't calling himself Hannibal. So. About six foot, late forties, blonde hair running to grey, brown eyes with a reddish tint to them. European. Kind of an asshole. Ring any bells?"

Stephen swallowed hard, hands clenching into fists. "Yes, actually."

Will nodded. "Like I said, not the following type."

"If you knew you were looking for Kaecilius, why didn't you just say so?" Stephen growled.

"I wasn't _sure_ , and you're the first person I've been able to ask. Still not going to tell me how to get to the Dark Dimension, are you?" It didn't really sound like a question.

"I'm sorry?" Stephen said uncertainly. "Look, I know Kaecilius probably told you-"

"He didn't tell me a damn thing. He thinks I'm dead." Will shrugged. "And he's not wrong, but I'm not that easy to get rid of." He frowned at Stephen. "Did he really try to destroy the world?"

"He made a bargain with a terrifying magical entity that wants to add Earth to its collection of planets. He thought it would give everyone eternal life, and after a fashion it would have, but it would have been endless torment." Stephen scowled. "He should have read the fine print, but I guess he saw what he wanted to see."

Will's mouth twisted into something resembling a smile, making the wound in his cheek gape nauseatingly. "You're assuming he didn't know what he was doing, then?"

"Why would he knowingly drop the whole planet into Hell?" Stephen snapped. "Look, he gave me this whole speech about how death was an insult and we shouldn't have to put up with it anymore, okay? He was completely delusional."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't describe him as _sane_ , no. But he’s not _stupid_ , either. He-" The ghost stopped, turning. Stephen turned too, to see what he was looking at, but it was just the empty table. The ghost walked towards it, fixated, and then stretched out its fingers, shifting its hand as if brushing away a veil.

Stephen gasped, because there were shadowy, rippling figures visible now, as if seen through water, but he recognized them immediately: Kaecilius, sitting at the table surrounded by books, face free of discoloration; and the Ancient One, exactly as she had been when he met her, standing by the bookshelf and looking at Kaecilius with concern.

 _'This will not bring you what you seek,'_ she told him gently, her voice a whisper, an echo. _'To turn back the clock as far as you wish would destabilize the whole timeline. Even if you succeeded in restoring your teacup, it would be torn from your grasp as reality fragmented around you.'_

Kaecilius stared up at her, expression wounded. _'If you knew that what I wished for was impossible, why not tell me that immediately? Why allow me to hope?'_

 _'Because I, too, had hopes,'_ she said, moving over to lean against the table and gaze at him earnestly. _'I hoped that you might come to see that death is a part of life, and that time is not as linear as we might assume. If you live as long as I have, you may find that those you love return to you in different shapes, drawn back by the connections forged between your souls.'_

_'And what would I do while I waited for their return?'_ Kaecilius asked, raising an eyebrow. _'Are your hopes for me or for yourself?'_

 _'Ah,'_ she said, smiling ruefully. _'I confess I had thought that you might assist me in my duties, and learn the ways of the Sorcerer Supreme. I may not grow older, but I have grown weary.'_

 _'You wish me to be your replacement?'_ Kaecilius asked, apparently startled.

_'Is that so very surprising? It has been centuries since anyone mastered the arts so swiftly. You are capable of great compassion, but it does not sway you when there are hard choices to be made. You have a marvellous way with people, and have won the respect of both your teachers and your fellow students. All that holds you back is your lingering attachment to the idea of resurrecting your loved ones, and I have faith that you can overcome it in time.'_

Kaecilius looked down at the open book in front of him. _'I am honoured to hear you say so, my teacher. I fear that my inconvenient attachment may be more difficult to relinquish than you anticipate, but I shall think on what you have said. '_

 _'Thank you. I will let you return to your books.'_ She padded smoothly to the door, and Kaecilius stared at her back. There was no expression on his face, and something in the absolute lack of it sent chills down Stephen's spine, and then Kaecilius turned his blank mien towards the rack of chained books. 

"Sentimental asshole," Will said softly, making him jump and curse. He'd actually forgotten about the ghost beside him, caught up in the conversation. Will flicked him an amused glance. "So, is that normal?"

Stephen stared at him. "What?"

Will waved a hand vaguely at where the shadow of Kaecilius was fading. "The... vision thing."

“Oh.” Stephen shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. I've never seen it done before, but I've never met a ghost before. Or... Not one that stuck around, anyway."

"Huh. I told you I could... feel it, that he’d been here. He said once that we were conjoined...” Will stared at the rack of books for a moment. “So that woman was the Ancient One, right? The Sorcerer Supreme before you?"

"I'm not the Sorcerer Supreme," Stephen said, startled. 

Will gave him an incredulous once-over, focusing on the cape. "Uh-huh. You obviously haven't heard the water-cooler gossip about yourself."

"And you have?" Stephen asked suspiciously.

Will looked back at the books. "I told you, people don't notice me. Not sure why, since I am quite obviously dead, but their eyes just slide over me like I'm not there. Initially I figured I just looked homeless, but nobody stopped me walking into your Hong Kong office, or here either."

"Sanctum," Stephen corrected absently. "I don’t actually know all that much about… whatever it is that you’re doing. I- Sorry, I’m still boggling over the fact that the Ancient One was going to tag _Kaecilius_ as her successor. I would have thought she was a better judge of character. She had this weird knack for looking right through you and just... _knowing_ things about you. "

"Yeah?" Will's mouth twisted again. "He probably liked that. And he's charming enough when he wants something. As for ‘looking through him’..." He paused thoughtfully. “He's normally thinking about five things at once, and on the rare occasion when he _has_ emotions they’re a little... off. She might have had trouble getting a grip on that. Especially if she met him just after I died, when he would have been having a shitload of inconvenient feelings."

"Inconvenient," Stephen echoed, raising an eyebrow. "He said that, too. Kind of a weird way to describe a guy you’re apparently willing to go to Hell for."

Will gave a dry little laugh. "He once told me that his compassion for me was inconvenient. I agreed that if you're partial to beef products, it's inconvenient to feel compassionate towards a cow."

"...What." Stephen stared at the ghost, a couple of newspaper articles dragging themselves into prominence in his brain. Headlines. Photographs. "Wait. No fucking way. Hannibal? Hannibal as in _Hannibal_ fucking _Lecter_?! She wanted to make _Hannibal the Cannibal_ the Sorcerer Supreme!?!"

Will raised his hands placatingly. "Hey, no point yelling at me about it, I wasn't even here."

"No, but, Jesus, you're Will Graham, aren't you? There was... um.” Stephen dragged a hand over his face awkwardly.

Will Graham’s ghost gave him an amused look. “Um?”

"The, ah," he waved a hand vaguely, "the media coverage was pretty mixed about your part in the whole Tooth Fairy thing. The ones that don’t think you’re dead were pretty well convinced that you and Lecter ran off to South America together or something."

“Freddie Lounds was in the latter camp, right?” The ghost snorted. “Look, Hannibal and I have a... complicated history.” Will’s tone was a disturbing mix of bitter and a sort of rueful affection that Stephen wasn’t sure he wanted to think about, but he kept talking. “He framed me for murder, I tried to kill him a couple of times, he tried to kill me a couple of times. Then I told him to leave me alone and he turned himself in, spent three years in a padded cell in the hope that I'd come and visit him, the passive-aggressive bastard, because he has _feelings_ about me. He let me use him as bait, get him shot, and throw him off a cliff, and then he utterly failed to drown because he's got the Devil's own luck. _I_ drowned though, because my luck is shit and I mostly get by on stubbornness. So I dragged my corpse across the Atlantic and all the way to fucking Kathmandu because there's no way I'm letting him get away again. Except it turns out he didn't, the stupid fuck, because he spent the whole time trying to learn how to time travel, and when that didn't work he decided to destroy the world."

"...You actually do think it was deliberate, then?" Stephen asked, trying to absorb that little speech.

Will shrugged. "The first time I managed to hurt Hannibal's feelings, he gutted me with a linoleum knife, slit our pseudo-foster-daughter's throat in front of me, and then ran off to Europe with his psychiatrist. He doesn't do proportionate responses. If he couldn't have his teacup back, I absolutely believe that he'd throw the rest of the set on the floor and stomp on the pieces."

Stephen's mouth worked for a few moments, and then he managed, "What's with the 'teacup' thing?"

"It's a stupid and overused metaphor,” Will said irritably. “Don't worry about it.”

“Oh. Okay.” He stared at the ghost for a few minutes more, thinking. “No, I still don’t get it. Why are you trying to follow him? I mean, you’re dead. Have you considered just... letting it go?”

Will shrugged again. “I’m not going anywhere. I have, what do they call it? Unfinished business. I’m not moving on until I get my closure. So, either go hire an exorcist, or get out of my way.”

Stephen stared at him some more. 

The ghost stared back, unmoving. Behind him, the corpse hanging limply in its restraints was starting to drip on the carpet. 

Stephen sighed. “I might be able to manage a gate for an astral form, if you’re serious about not requiring a body. I don’t know how you’ll fare in the Dark Dimension without one, though.”

Will Graham shrugged, climbing back into his corpse and reanimating it. “Not your problem. Besides, I’m stubborn, remember? I’ll figure it out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stubborn Will is the best. Also, handwavey magic-science.
> 
> And then it turns out that the Dark Dimension is actually on the metaphysical plane _below_ the physical one, so Dormammu can't affect an astral form with no physical body. He's rude, though, so Will eats him and takes over the place.  
>  When he needs a body so he can interact with Earth, he possesses Hannibal (who is delighted. and would probably kill anybody else who dared to volunteer). This causes some consternation when Will decides to offer his assistance in the whole Infinity War thing and turns up to meetings wearing a serial killer...


End file.
